Shelby Morgen - Too Hot To Handle.pdf

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Chapter One
"Come back to bed, M'Lady."
A stranger with an athletic build and possessive eyes sought to draw her back into his arms, but a
commotion beyond the window distracted her. The noises that had awakened her were getting louder.
Apparently pandemonium was breaking loose on the streets below. The man rose to cross the room to
her, a dim figure in the shadows and lights that filtered through the curtains, his chest a washboard of
carefully sculpted muscle that alternately glinted and darkened.
"Mmm." Strong hands with fingertips as smooth as a child's encircled her waist, brushing across her
navel. He pulled her back against his outthrust cock, letting her feel its heat against her bare ass, then
stroked his hands upward over her sensitive belly to capture her breasts. Her body responded almost
involuntarily as he pinched at her traitorous nipples, rolling them gently between soft, knowing fingers.
Her head ached from the after-effects of too much ale, and there was a man she didn't remember
pawing at her. Damn. She simply could not be trusted. Who in the nine hells was he?
"You have the body of a Warrior goddess. So tight and firm." His fingers stroked over her clit as he
rubbed his cock in slow circles against her ass. For a moment she feared he would try to gain entrance
there. "So difficult to tame. You have been very disobedient, Slave. I fear I must punish you."
Last night came swirling back into focus. He'd worked very hard trying to convince her of his mastery.
Unfortunately she hadn't been drunk enough to believe him capable of forcing her to do anything. Ever.
"Later," she warned. "I'm not in the mood at the moment." She hoped for his sake that he would take the
hint. Such a pity to have to kill him. He was so pretty. At least she thought he was. She hadn't really seen
him in the light of day…
"Feel how hard I am for you. You will come back to bed with me now, Slave. My cock wants you.
Time to show me what an obedient slave you can be." He didn't add this time , but he didn't have to. "If
you're very good, I'll fuck you until you scream."
Yeah. Right. Jarla fought back the urge to peel his hands off her breasts. If she screamed it would be
with frustration. She must not have paid the man, or he wouldn't still be here. She really shouldn't drink
cheap ale. It did such bad things to her judgment.
The man bent to nuzzle her neck, letting his thick mass of dirty blond hair fall over her shoulder with a
studied grace, obviously contrasting the blond of his hair with the dark burnt bronze of her skin. Suddenly
he froze, his lips on her earlobe as he looked out the window over her shoulder.
Fires dotted the rooflines of thatched huts at the far end of town, racing to claim the marketplace, fanned
by the cold north wind. Unable to damage the impenetrable stone walls of the city, the fire spread
through the thatch-roofed wooden sheds in the Slaves' quarters with a destruction few invading enemies
could have managed.
People were running from the market section in all directions, scattering like sheep before a pack of wild
dogs.
 
"Do you think the fires will spread this far? Should we evacuate, M'Lady?"
The man—it really was coarse of her not to remember his name—sounded truly alarmed. Just short of
panic. Jarla barely glanced at her consort as she pulled on her thin leather tunic, yanking her blackened
ring mail over her head with a carelessness that ripped at her hair. "Evacuate?" The wind was blowing
from the north—away from them. Still, 'twas a good enough way to get rid of him. "Aye. A good plan.
Round up the others and see that they all make it out of this fine establishment."
"M'Lady?"
What had passed for strength and mastery last night now looked a shade too much like dumb as the
stone the city was named for. "Much of this building is wood. If the fires spread it will go up like kindling.
Go and knock on the doors of the other—entertainers—who work here. Make sure everyone is awake
and knows they must flee."
"But where will we go?" His deep voice rose close to a shriek as he pulled on his tunic.
"For now, take everyone to the river north of town. After the fires are under control I'm sure your
master will see to finding you a new home. You are all too valuable to go homeless for long…" Damn it,
he must have had a name. Jarla tossed a pair of gold coins to him. "Go."
He stared, wide eyed, at the coins in his hand for a moment. "Yes, M'Lady. I shall do as you instruct."
He leaned in to kiss her quickly before he fled, although at the door he turned to look back over his
shoulder. "Thank you, M'Lady!"
She couldn't get away from the tavern fast enough. What is wrong with me? she mused rather
morosely as she took the outside stairs two at a time. The man was gorgeous. And he'd been talented
enough. She simply wasn't able to convince herself that a man like that would ever master her. What was
the point in playing sex games if you didn't believe the man was capable of outwitting you? There was no
danger. No excitement. If all she had wanted was sex he would have been an admirable companion. But
he had lacked the ability to make her believe for even an instant that she could not break him with one
blow, had he ever truly frightened her.
The sex hadn't even been all that great. Not that the darling hadn't been eager to please her. But she
hadn't wanted to be fawned over. She'd wanted strength. Passion. Mastery. She'd wanted, just for once,
not to be the one in control—the one making all the decisions. A little ingenuity, damn it. Was that asking
too much?
He'd been the prettiest of Stone City Tavern's offerings. Young and handsome and well endowed, his
stamina had proved almost legendary. But sometimes a woman wanted more, wanted…
"By the gods," she whispered as she rounded the corner of the last set of stairs to run straight into the
broadest chest she had ever had the pleasure of observing. She looked up, trying to see something
beyond the massive chest. Up. And up. And up.
Strong hands shot out to steady her, lifting her easily off the ground. Lust hit her like a hard wave,
knocking her breath from her lungs. She was no wisp of a woman. A man who could pick her up so
easily could surely make her believe anything he wished. She kept looking up, wordlessly searching for
his face.
 
The man's countenance went dead as he glanced down at her. His gaze dropped to focus respectfully at
her feet as he set her back on the ground, though a muscle in his jaw went rock hard. "Forgive me,
M'Lady."
The torc on his neck branded him a slave. Another wave of lust shot through her. A huge bear of a man
who could break her with just one blow of those mighty hands, but instead was forced to serve her,
submitting to her every whim. Ahh. This wasn't her usual fantasy, but surprisingly enough she found the
idea even more arousing. Moisture flooded her sheath, quickly soaking the leather thong she wore
beneath her leggings.
She reached out to touch, running her fingers through the short crisp curls that darkened the skin
between his nipples. She let her palm glide across to stroke one of those inviting coral buds, pleased at
his sharp intake of breath as it beaded up beneath her palm. "I would not have wasted my time with the
pretty blond boy last night had I known there was a man about. Come upstairs with me, Slave. Now."
His eyes widened in surprise. "I am flattered, M'Lady, but—"
"Are you not a slave? Is it not your duty to obey me?"
"No, M'Lady. That is, I am a slave, but I do not work here. I am a fighter in the arena."
She struggled for her voice. She should have known. She had not even the effects of the ale to blame
this time. She should have realized his torc was too realistically sculpted to be a bit of jewelry. It was the
real thing. The raw scrape across his left shoulder suggested he had just escaped the fires. Jarla looked
around him toward the Slaves' quarters. "The Arena? It is not closed this time of the year? Are there
others?"
"M'Lady?"
Was he no brighter than the hireling? "Are there other men still trapped in the Slaves' quarters beneath
the arena? Chained up in there so that they cannot escape?"
"Aye, M'Lady." He kept glancing over her shoulder, surveying the passageway beyond her as if he
wanted to be on his way, to shove her aside, though he kept his hands hanging loosely at his sides.
A fire, panic in the streets, utter pandemonium. He wore a torc, yet he ran free while others stayed
behind to suffer and die. Opportune timing? The twinges she'd felt in her loins moved higher, turning into
the bile of disgust in her gut. "Don't let me stand in the way of your escape." Jarla sidestepped to allow
him to pass as she headed for the burning buildings.
"I need a weapon, M'Lady." His voice was low, yet powerful, desperately asking her to believe in him.
"I broke down the gates, but I could no' free them."
The hint of a brogue and his size branded him a Northlander. Jarla turned to stare at the huge bear of a
man once again. "You expected to find weapons to free the Slaves in a whorehouse?"
"The tavern has kitchens, M'Lady. An axe for the firewood. A meat cleaver. Anything."
A Northlander? Here? There could be only one reason for a Northlander to venture into these parts.
Especially one wearing a slave's torc. After all these months…
 
But he was attempting to free the Slaves. Without help they would all die, slowly suffocating on the
smoke long before the flames began to crackle about their feet.
She was a professional, damn it. The job came first. Always.
She was a fool.
Jarla closed her eyes for the barest of moments, asking the gods' forgiveness for her stupidity. She
tossed her axe to the man with the pleading eyes. She noted that his fingers were raw and bloody, as if
he'd tried to rip the chains apart with his bare hands, yet he grinned as he caught her axe. "I thank ye,
M'Lady."
And with that he was gone.
His long, ragged black hair flew out behind him as he raced back towards the burning stables. The
stables connected to the arena. Damn it. There must be a dozen ways out of the arena. Jarla laughed at
the surprise on the big man's face as she passed him, then stopped to wait for him to catch up as she
armed herself with her short sword.
He didn't question her reason for being here, nor her ability to deal with danger. He simply accepted the
strip of cloth she offered and tied it over his face as he led the way through the billowing smoke.
Damn but she liked the look of this man. Too bad he hadn't been the one sharing her bed last night
instead of that fancy little piece of rent-a-cock. She was willing to bet she wouldn't have ended the night
so disappointed.
Once past the entrance to the stables it was harder to breathe. Without the big man in front of her,
judging every turn with apparent confidence, she would quickly have become disoriented in this maze of
a building. The smoke swirled around them, obscuring everything but her view of the big man's backside
as they pushed forward. Damn. She was chasing the man through a burning building and all she could
think about was the lovely piece of prime meat about to go up in smoke. She'd been alone way too much
recently. But since from the look of things she was about to end up roasted, there wasn't too much harm
in enjoying her very last look.
A fine ass it was, too.
Jarla admonished herself once again as she nearly ran into that fine, tight ass. She'd been too busy
studying the play of muscles over his back as he moved to notice when he stopped suddenly. She
swallowed her laughter. What a shame she'd maintained her balance. She'd have kept her hands where
they landed, caressing the curves of his hips, but his attention was focused on other things.
He raised her axe to splinter a large wooden door. Once inside he led her down a set of crude wooden
stairs to a sweltering dungeon. The air was rank with the smell of human waste. Her laughter died on her
lips.
The smoke hadn't thoroughly penetrated this far below ground yet. They yanked the cloths from over
their faces. The air was clear enough for her to see the wasted lumps of humanity chained along the wall
like a herd of tethered goats. Evidently the slave trader had been working overtime of late.
A chain passed through the torc on each man's neck then through an iron ring bolted to the wall. At
either end of the row the chain was padlocked to the last man's torc.
 
Her guide paused before the first man in the line. "I am sorry, Calibeth." His voice was far from steady.
"Do it," the gray form barked. He closed his eyes and turned toward the wall. "Grant me my freedom,
Thallin. Do it!"
Thallin. Her guess had been correct. By the seven. What was he doing here ? More important, what was
he going to do with—
An axe for the firewood. A meat cleaver. Anything.
"No!" Jarla screamed as the big man raised her axe above his head. "Stop! Thallin, stop!" She cringed as
she threw herself in front of Calibeth. "You don't have to do this, Thallin," she tried to explain.
She felt the prisoner's hands on her waist, shoving her out of the way as she fished in her small leather
waist pouch. "Fool woman, do you think this is easy for him? Can you not see that we will all die here?
Let him do his work!"
The prisoner knocked her off balance, and as she stumbled her tools scattered to the ground. "No, no,
you don't understand. Just give me a moment!"
As Thallin stared at her, the axe fell slowly to the ground. He dropped to his knees, shaking hands
reaching for her tools as tears streamed down his face. "By the gods," he croaked out in a mockery of
laughter. "These are lock picks. She's a thief."
"A Mercenary," Jarla corrected automatically. "At the moment I'm working as a Bounty Hunter."
Thallin's sun-bronzed face paled as she snatched her tools out of his hands. "Thank you."
Unaware of what passed between them, the prisoner stretched his neck and turned his head, giving her
as much room to work as he could. "The gods are with us this night," he breathed. "Our prayers are
twice answered."
Jarla didn't have time to wonder what the older man meant. She'd worry over that later. For now there
was a Dwarven lock under her fingers.
"Can I fetch ye anything?" Thallin offered. "Do you need a light?"
"No!" she snapped, her concentration broken. "Just be quiet." Instantly the slave pit took on the quiet of
a tomb. She'd have sworn the men ceased to breathe.
'Twas no use. The Dwarven lock refused to budge. Yet she couldn't give up. She couldn't let Thallin use
her axe to…
A soft click sounded under her hands. "One," she muttered.
The smoke was getting thicker down here. The roof above must be caving in. Would she set the men
free only to have them all roasted alive?
Her hands held steady on her tools. Another soft snap. "Two."
"Now you're so damn quiet you're breaking my concentration. Breathe, damn it."
 

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